


Spooklock's Big Book of Johnlock Fluff

by spooklock



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Johnlock Angst, Johnlock Fluff, Johnlock Headcanons, Johnlock crack, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, assorted ficlets, happy endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 12,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spooklock/pseuds/spooklock
Summary: Here it is- my assortment of ficlets, headcanons, musings, drabbles, and anon requests!Here there be a true assortment. Be warned- angst, pining, unrequited love, anxiety and tears. But fear not- all endings are happy, and no hearts are (permanently) broken.Go forth and fluff, my friends.





	1. Unilock Musings

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first piece of Johnlock writing! I was very stressed about Uni. Turns out this coping mechanism is cathartic and perhaps even healthy? I hope reading it brings you as much comfort as writing it did me.

When I’m sad I think about what John and Sherlock do to comfort one another. Especially in situations similar to mine.

If Uni!Sherlock felt tied down to his current situation and was so done with being there and felt like he lost all of his passion and interest in Chemistry (like I’ve felt in my program lately), I think maybe John would put away his laptop for him and make him a cuppa and wrap them up in a big quilt John brought from home and just talk with him. Just for an hour or so. John knows Sherlock just gets overwhelmed and scared if he doesn’t do exactly how he thinks he should in a certain class or things like that. He needs air and perspective and John gives him that so easily.

And if Uni!John gets in his own head about his insecurities after talking to his parents and he’s forgetting all the things he unlearned and things he realized about himself after getting away and finally finding positivity from a loved one, Sherlock meets him at his apartment and wraps him in his coat and they stay like that for a moment. And then he hands John his jacket and takes a walk with him. Buys them each a hot cocoa, shows John the new ducks’ nest he spotted yesterday- it’s spring so they’ve just moved in at the big pond by the library. And he lets go of John’s hand and puts it on his waist and kisses his forehead so softly and reminds him verbally as well how he feels. And who John really is, whether his parents see it or not.

They’re so good at seeing behind the masks. And they know exactly how to gently bring the other back around. They’re on a team together, just them, and they do more than okay.


	2. A Rambling, Fluffy, Angsty Thing

Sometimes I get kinda stuck thinking about what they could have had because it could have been so perfect.

Peaceful, quiet days- no pressure to speak, or fill the silence, but a desire to interact, even little bits at a time. They don’t feel they need to make conversation because the turning pages, tapping keys, clinking beakers, little snuffles and rustles and shuffles of life, and ‘tea making’ noises are more than enough.

Little bits of everyday romance- Getting takeout from their favorite places all the time, breaking out a bottle of wine because it’s Thursday and I’m so happy to be here with you like this. Surprise! Your pajamas came out of the dryer when you were in the shower- here get dressed and warm and let’s have a snuggle. It’s raining and nobody’s out let’s go for a stroll- yes I know it’s 1 am.

Random adventure and working on things we enjoy- A case comes up out of nowhere, and just in time, we were getting anxious. Wow- the past few days trying to track this person down have been nuts- fun, but crazy. And we always feel even closer after the challenging ones, the dangerous ones, the ones we learn about ourselves on. The things we’ve seen, and done, and places we’ve been- we’re so happy we were there together.

 

We’re obligated only to working- which we enjoy immensely- and loving one another to the best of our ability- which is a miracle in and of itself everyday we wake up and realize that yesterday, last week, last month, last year…the past decades weren’t a dream. We have something to keep us young together, things to keep us wondrous together, and one another for the days (and nights) when the memories of almost-not-making-it-to-now creep in.

The things we cross paths with are essential encounters for us to get to where we need to be. The destination and pit stops we plan never play out exactly as we saw them in our minds or hearts. And where we land is exactly where we need to be. But that doesn’t stop us missing the things we were hoping to have as we pass by them on the way.

So maybe they’ll watch Rosie grow and solve some good ones and grow closer, maybe they’ll finally, really find each other, and yes- that’s spectacular and perfect. But for me, personally, seeing them whizz by such simple, /right/, GOOD happiness was- not easy.


	3. A Headcanon So Short The Title Will Take You Longer to Read Than the Actual Work

So the paradigm goes that the one who sleeps by the door, and holds the other in spooning situations, is most protective.

So I propose that they switch off in this role- even fight over it (playfully) sometimes.

They’re so happy to finally have one another, and neither one nor the other needs more cuddles over the former.

They usually end up sleeping in a tangled dog pile of haphazard limbs and soft hand holding/face stroking


	4. Train Platforms and Love Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh my first ficlet awww so tropey!

“So you’re…all packed then? Ready to go?” Sherlock half-whispers, standing in the living room with John. The dull light outside casts short shadows across their faces. It’s gray, and cool. Raining, of course.

‘When is it not anymore?’ Sherlock wonders.

“Uhh, yeah, yep. Train leaves in a couple hours. Should pro…should probably head out. Umm, ” he checks his watch again. “Right about now.” He pulls his eyes back up to Sherlocks, setting a hardness to his jaw. There’s nothing to say here, nothing to do, he thinks. This was never going anywhere, you moron.

You can’t break what never existed.

“Right, well, safe journey, and I’ll uh…I’ll see you when I see you.” Sherlock shifts his weight forward, and begins to extend his arms, but drops one at the last second, going for a handshake instead. John takes his hand and shakes it firmly. He also holds it, warmly. They both think about how else they could say goodbye but neither can break the seal.

“Congratulations, again John, really this is incredible. You’ve earned it.” So earnestly Sherlock says this, and it’s true- he’s so proud of and happy for John. The head surgeon position in Paris opened up about a month ago, and John was hesitant to leave Sherlock-err, umm, his life here, behind. His job and the cases and the flat, and…Sherlock. Sherlock.

But what end did he think he was holding out for? Sherlock said- and reiterated himself, he doesn’t do- whatever it was John couldn’t even bring himself to think about. Whatever it was he wanted. Because God almighty if he thought it then it would consume him.

From that first case to the whole Irene thing to The Fall. Those years where John remembers only working and sleeping, after Sherlock died. Those two years when nothing else but existence occurred. And then when Sherlock came back and John finally woke up. And it felt like the first time he met Sherlock again. Songs he had listened to for decades suddenly made sense. Possibilities were everywhere. He didn’t mind, even enjoyed, the rain.

But it had been a year since Sherlock came back to him and still John saw no change. So when an opportunity to start over without the indescribable agony of loving Sherlock like this presented itself, John hesitantly accepted.

“Thanks yeah, I’m uh, I’m excited. Adventures and all that.”

‘You have adventure here too, so why are you really leaving?’ Sherlock questions to himself.

“Yeah, adventures. Well umm I’ll uh, walk you out?”

“Sure.”

They walk silently down the stairs. John opens the door. Silence. He pushes his trunk out onto the steps, without a word.

“I’ll be sure your boxes get sent right away.”

“Thanks mate,” the word slips out with a little bitterness. “Thank you…Sherlock.” He tries to compensate. John swallows hard trying to keep the sobs down, clenching his jaw again. John hails a cab to the door of 221B.

Sherlock can only wave in response. As John turns away, dragging his trunk behind, Sherlock gives a half-hearted salute, and turns sharply, closing the door with a gentle click.

*********************************************

Sherlock closes the door to their-his flat. As this realization dawns on him, he lets his hands slide down the wood and to his sides. The motion of moving downward catches his whole body though, and he’s curled up on the floor against the door suddenly. Sherlock breathes shallowly, fighting two strong urges- crying hysterically, and pushing it all back down because if he lets go now he may never stop crying. It’s build a bridge or drown. Neither is more appealing than the other yet, so he waits in limbo.

*********************************************

John’s cab ride is no more pleasant. He keeps his eyes on his shoes, unable to look at all the familiar places he’ll likely never see again. The restaurants they got takeout at when it’s 3 am. Sherlock’s favorite curry place. Angelo’s. The streets they ran down chasing whoever. The Thames, The Eye, Big Ben. The places Sherlock said really, very funny things that always but shouldn’t take John by surprise. The places they almost died. The place Sherlock did.

On the platform John can’t help remembering the time Sherlock took him to Angelo’s on stakeout. That conversation.

Flattered by your interest. Not my area.

All the things he thought those first few days, trying to figure out what he felt.

All those people that think Sherlock is gay.

How he never denies it. And…how John says “I’m not gay”. Because he’s not. But all of this bullshit he’s been fed and is still trying to unlearn.

That one time, “that’s what I was suggesting.”

“No it wasn’t. At least I hope not.”

I hope not.

Oh God.

All those “People will talk” moments. “I hope no one saw that.” I hope not. I hope not.

‘I’ve done this. I pushed him away. He thinks I’m not interested because I was scared. I pushed him away. I have to…I’m…’

John jumps up and starts walking back towards the street. ‘I have to tell him. I have to try.’

*********************************************

Sherlock can’t get those words out of his mind.

Married to my work. Abhorrent. Virus in the data.

He thinks I don’t want him because that’s what I told him. But that first night. He asked, or he tried. And all that he told me about growing up.

He always chooses cases over dates. He could have stopped ages ago. He could have not moved back after I went away…if he would rather have something else, someone else. But now he’s going to so…but after six years… who wouldn’t try to move on?

Why do I have to be alone? Why? John has proven time and time and time again that he cares. He wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. He…he sees such good in me. Me.

Sherlock sits upright immediately. If he cares about me and could have left long ago had he wanted to, if he had opportunity to find someone while I was away but didn’t, then…

“Whatever remains, however improbable…”

*********************************************

John’s train departs in five minutes and Sherlock is a good ten minute walk from the platform.

So it’s a good thing he’s not walking.

The Belstaff billows behind him as he tries to politely shove people aside. After the upteenth ‘excuse me’ you just get tired of niceties.

The seconds flash by as he sprints to platform twenty-seven.

Two minutes. Platform twelve. Thirteen.

One minute. Platform fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

He hears someone shout his name and is taken somewhat aback. Who the hell knows me here? What do you need?

But it seemed so familiar. And then he sees him. John. Dr. John Hamish Watson…Sprinting towards him?

They skid to a stuttering halt in front of platform eighteen. A pause, and an exchange of one another’s names, out of breath and weak and shocked. Reality sets in and they know. Finally, at the same time, they both know.

Eyes close, Sherlocks hands cup John’s face and John’s find Sherlocks waist. They kiss, softly, quick pecks because goddamit they’re so out of breath. They pull back just enough to see each other’s faces, laughing. And take a moment. Foreheads lean together and they catch their breath.

“Again then?” John inquires hopefully.

“Please.”

This time it’s deeper. Gentle, and so satisfying. They stay like this, long after John’s train has announced it’s depart (and neither notice). They don’t know who started first but they pull away when their faces are wet and red with tears and they can’t breathe again. Sniffling and gently wiping away the tears, they stroke hair and faces and arms. Squeeze hands. Nudge noses and nuzzle necks. They lean their foreheads together again and laugh.

“I love you Sherlock.” John says between sniffles.

“I love you too John.” He whispers croakily. “Come home. Please.”

“Thought I already was home.”

Sherlock considers for a moment, assessing this response. An approving nod and a simple “Smooth”.

They laugh again and start walking, Sherlock taking John’s bag off of his bad arm.

“What do you want for dinner?” Asks John.

“Dunno, but I’m starving.” John thinks this may be a loaded response, mostly because Sherlock looks directly at John’s lips.

Eventually they find something delicious and satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES: I wrote a thing. This is something I had a conversation with @sherlcckholmes about.
> 
> This is obviously a very unoriginal theme but I wanted to put it into my own words so *shrugs*. I hope you like it! I’ve never really written anything other than short headcanons so this was an adventure!


	5. John Wearing the Coat Headcanons

Idk man there’s just SOMETHING about John in Sherlock’s coat

John wearing it is so cute and it’s like very long and big on him

Bonus if Sherlock comes up and drapes it over his shoulders when he’s cold, extra bonus if it’s late at a crime scene

BUT SHERLOCK PULLING JOHN INTO THE COAT WHILE HE’S ALREADY WEARING IT TAKES THE CAKE

Extra double taking the cake bonus points if he wraps John up real gentle and kisses his sleepy forehead


	6. Alternative Tarmac Outcomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I got emotional one night imagining this too hard. Enjoy your tears!

Because a lot of the times when we talk about what could have happened it ends with them being together after someone confesses on the tarmac, but really, other factors are still in play. Sherlock is still being banished, even if they confess. Like…

“John, there’s something that I’ve always wanted to say but never have. ” He pauses and looks down contemplatively. It’s now or never, and he knows it’s selfish- that Mary and the baby are involved here now. But the thought of having left without ever telling John is killing him long before the mission ever gets his hands on him.

“I’ve thought about what saying this will cause you but I think you deserve to know, after all we’ve been through, and the pain I’ve caused you. If nothing else I think this will clear some things up for you.” John squints slightly, wondering if this is finally happening, what he’s wanted to happen for years now.

Sherlock has to confess to his feet because he’s losing courage so quickly. “John, I love you. ” he flicks a glance up to John’s eyes before dropping it again. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s quiet for a few seconds but Sherlock swears it'a enough time to die and be born again before John reacts.

He whispers “I love you too Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s gaze shoots back up so quickly his vision blurs, until his eyes click softly into place with John’s soft stare.

They come together in an engulfing hug, fingers grabbing fistfuls of coat backs, arms arranged so that as much as possible is being held. Chins on shoulders, deep breaths, stillness and silence. They stay like this for a moment before snapping to.

“What happens now?”   
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, I’d like to kiss you…goodb-”  
“Please, John, don’t say that word. John, if I had an entire lifetime with you I’m sure I’d never be able to communicate effectively how I feel, not even close. ”  
“I know , I know, Sherlock I- I understand, I couldn’t either. I’ve tried. I- We, we at least know now, I guess. I mean, whatever happens, for the rest of my time here, I want you to understand that I know how you feel, even if you can’t explain it, because I feel just as inexplicably about you.”

They’ve both shed a few tears at this point, Sherlock is trying to find something to say.

“You’ll be with me, you know. When I-” he looks towards the plane.

John buries his face in Sherlock’s shoulder and one sob escapes his chest. “I know. I’d be there for real if I could.”

“I know.”

“And you’ll be with me. When I’m missing you. Tonight. Tomorrow. Thirty years from now. When it’s been a shit day and I wish I was going home to you. When it feels like January in the middle of July because I married her and not you. When I’m overjoyed and want to share it with you. When I see a really cool coat.” They laugh.

“I know John. I’m so sorry. I’d be there, if I could.”

“I know.”


	7. Victorianlock Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little thing I wrote about Holmes and Watson and their secret ways of showing intimacy. I'd love to expand on this some day.

They totally have things that are like codes so they can show affection in public. Like, it’s just decidedly affectionate if Watson offers Holmes more pipe tobacco (he knows Holmes has plenty somewhere on his person but this to them is a version of holding hands).

Or like if Holmes uses the words ‘striking’ or 'brilliant’, even in reference to things other than Watson, they decidedly understand this as code for affectionate and reassuring things.

Maybe they talk in private about ways they can show affection and solidarity when they cannot express this freely.

It’s been hours out on the trail of some suspect, they’re both exhausted, and Watson see Holmes’ confidence wavering. He reaches into his overcoat pocket and pulls out his tobacco, catches Holmes’ eye wordlessly- they’re sat at NSY discussing plans with the police- and puts the tobacco in Holmes’ outstretched hand, lingering on the drawing back motion. Holmes relaxes a little and eventually they catch the guy.  
To anyone else it’s unnoticed, but to Holmes it’s a warm grasp to an unsure hand and a soft squeeze.

Watson is doing his usual 'Oh you have a client, I’ll step out.’ But this time he’s feeling a bit more insecure about his contributing values, resisting Holmes more than usual. Holmes turns abruptly to the client, a young woman of substantial wealth, and takes sudden interest in her pendant. “Striking, a magnificent piece of art. Brilliant in color, really.” He adds some deductions to make it seem like part of his first sizing-up of her and she thinks little of it. But to Watson, this is a kiss to the forehead and a soft 'Please stay, I need you.’


	8. Johnlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was just called Johnlock. For the sake of organization I'm keeping close to original titles. This is just a short little blip of a headcanon about coziness and cuddling, domesticity, and just general cuteness. I like to think of these little things as thought starters I guess- for future works, for your enjoyment, for my entertainment.

Johnlock, sitting in PJs in bed, warm and content with the giant heavy duvet wrapped around them. Just chilling, maybe some netflix. No pun intended.

Johnlock, taking a stroll because it’s raining and warm outside and feels like spring. They hold hands, of course.

Johnlock, making dinner together for Mrs. H, just because.

Johnlock, staying up until dawn (again, woops) reading their favorite things to one another. Playing their favorite songs for one another.

Johnlock, whispering silly, sweet, romantic things to one another, alone in 221B because whispering is nice.

Johnlock, writing letters to one another during long days apart while John still works at the surgery.

Johnlock, bringing things to one another without having to ask- just knowing. Hot cuppa, little snack, Tylenol. Maybe a drink, if the situation warrants. Sometimes they bring themselves to each other- delivered in the form of a long hug, soft kiss, hand squeeze.

Johnlock.


	9. Dramatique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are all Sherlock.

Sherlock likes to wear knee socks and put on Lana Del Ray and pace around near the window or lie on the sofa with his legs up over his head, feet on the wall. He sighs dramatically and looks all pouty and pensive.

John raises an eyebrow and wonders about his life choices a little.


	10. In which I Am A cringey Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer one for you. I was really, I mean really in my feelings folks. Try not to judge my corny, syrupy too-sweet-to-enjoy fluff. (I mean, i am really cringing y'all).

From ten-thousand feet up, Sherlock watches the sun melting into the massive expanse of ocean surrounding them on all sides. Their plane home from Italy, where they had spent the past two weeks solving a particularly challenging case, seemed to chase the sun on it’s westward journey.

It was only the two of them on board- a perk of having a brother who was also the British Government. John walked back to their seats carrying two glasses and a bottle of red.

“How did you like the dinner then?”

“Delicious, of course. ”

“Better than Angelo’s?”

“Mmm…well, authentic Italian cuisine from Italy is hard to beat, but Angelo’s has a certain appeal that’s difficult to compete with.”

“Interesting. Could it possibly be that we end up ordering dessert and then having to take it to go because someone can’t keep his hands to himself literally every time we go?”

“We don’t always-”

“We do, Sherlock. They’ve started just bringing it to us in the box without us asking because they know we’ll be scrambling out by the time they bring it to us.” John pours Sherlock a glass and hands it to him.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I know.” John’s eyes glimmer mischievously when he looks sideways at Sherlock, pouring himself a glass as well.

Sherlock looks away, pretending not to blush and takes a sip from his glass.

“That’s beautiful,”

“Hmm?”

“Out there. The sky and the water like that.”

“Yes, it-” Sherlock laughs to himself a little “It sort of makes me think of you.”

John stills for a moment in his seat across from Sherlock. He looks out pensively, then back to his partner.

“Really?”

Sherlock whispers back, “Really, John. ”

John does something that’s typically a Sherlock sort of reaction- looking and blinking in confusion, speechless.

Sherlock knows John wants to ask for an explanation but doesn’t quite know how.

“John, it’s beautiful and miraculous and complex but also elegant in a way- a million tiny forces coming together to create an unstoppable, improbable sight like this- and yes, this is like you. But also, and my main reason for comparison, is the infinite nature of these things. John, anything vast makes me think of you. Sky and space, fields and fields of stars for eons in any direction. The constant force of the moon pushing and pulling on the waves. The massive, when you consider it, amount of individual grains of sand on just one small strip of beach, let alone the rest of the world.

“The way the sun has risen and fallen and risen again every day for billions of years. Thinking about things like this- things that couldn’t be counted or controlled- used to overwhelm me. ”

“Used to.” It was meant to be a question, but as he spoke John realized he knew the answer.

“Do something for me, John.”

“Okay.”

“Look down there at the water. Find the part where it’s the darkest. See that?” Sherlock points straight out at the horizon where the sun’s light, now almost gone, doesn’t shine but in a minuscule sliver. “See how it’s almost black but it’s not? The darkest blue it could be?”

“I see, yeah.”

“Think for a moment about how deep that has to be. All of this-” he gestures to the rest of the water they can see, and John can’t help feeling small. “Is a kind of infinity. And that- ” he points to a part of ocean a few shades lighter where the light reaches more easily, “-that right there is a piece of infinity that’s about as close to the exact shade of the inner ring of your eyes right this second as I think we’ll ever see in this world.”

“Sherlock.” John knows what he means. But his view is a bit different.

“I’ve had this thought swirling around for aa while and now I feel a bit more- able, I guess- to express it. ”

Sherlock leans forward and looks right at John, something he does often that makes John’s chest fill with affection. They both know what it’s like not to be heard.

“People always equate the color red to love, you know- something to do with passion. I get that. But love- this one, between you and I- if I were to pick a color, it would be green.”

“Green?” Sherlock smiles and lets slip a small chuckle. He doesn’t mean to patronize, and John knows this, it just catches him off guard.

“Fresh. Like a forest coming back after a fire. Full of life and potential. Quiet and peaceful, like it’s rained buckets and buckets and now it’s just trickling and dripping from the branches and leaves. Everything is good and healthy again.. and, interestingly enough, I see that perfect shade of green in the darkest part of your eyes, as well.”

Sherlock’s face shows that he understands. A tilted chin and soft smile, mesmerized and awe-struck eyes meet John’s and they kiss gently in the darkness of the quiet cabin, ten-thousand feet up and brimming with love.

 

1 YEAR AGO  
147 NOTES  
#JOHNLOCK FLUFF  
#JOHNLOCK FIC  
#MINE  
#JOHNLOCK FICLET


	11. The One About Hair Petting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lol

I see a lot about how much Sherlock loves when John scratches his head/hair but really I mean have you SEEN Sherlock’s fingers? Long and thin, perfect for head scratches.

John is tired or stressed? Sherlock cuddles him into his chest and scratches his whole head until John is all sleepy and loopy.

John has a bad dream? Sherlock wraps all around him and uses both hands to scratch soft, long streaks from root to nape, and John feels much calmer very soon.

Maybe Sherlock stares at John while they sit in their chairs by the fire and can’t control those thoughts (after John grows out his hair) of sinking both hands in and getting a little tangled and lost. So he sets down his book, stands, strides over, and sinks into John’s lap.

“Hello”

“Hello, John. Do forgive me but I find this new length ” he threads both hands in at the sides and locks fingers behind John’s head, resting his forehead against John’s, “a bit distracting.” Barely above a whisper, eyes hooded nearly shut.

And that’s when John usually retorts with some sort of clever banter, but he’s too busy melting into Sherlock’s hands and torso to register that it’s his turn to talk.

Sherlock is good at head scratches.


	12. Fluffy Fluff (I'm Great At Titles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I woke up from a nightmare and wrote this.

I like the idea of the two of them being casually romantic on a regular basis.

Like maybe if someone goes to get take out for dinner he’ll come back to a really lovely setup with candles and a fore and music.

Or maybe like Thursday night is bubble bath and red wine night.

Little poems and notes all over the place.

Sherlock goes to take a shower and he sees a note on the sink in Jon’s writing

“You bring warmth to my life. Did you know that? I love you immensely.”

Sherlock has to leave on a case very early but he knows how lonely John can get, so on the nightstand he leaves an empty cup with a bag of tea, and taped to the tag on the end is a little note

“An early start to the day  
I had to go and slip away  
There’s no place I’d rather be  
Than in our bed, drinking tea  
So John, my dear, my heart, my life,   
Sip it slow, no worry, no strife  
I’ll return very soon  
To our home, to me and you.”

For bad days, someone comes up behind the other and wraps a warm blanket, fresh from the dryer around them, and they stay wrapped up and quiet or talking until it’s better.

For worse days there’s early nights, in bed with the early evening sun draining out of the rooms, whispered reassurances and gentle face and hair strokes.

They’re very, very good at making sure the other doesn’t stay sad for long.

Also blanket forts. Like…often. Because I get the feeling they didn’t do that enough as kids


	13. Comfort/Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The note I put on this said "because I have a very large sad." Aww. Don't worry past me, it worked out alright.

They’re out on a case hiding in an alley. Tired, freezing, terrified. John backs up against the wall opposite Sherlock and tries to hide it but it’s so evident- to Sherlock, at least.

“John,” he whispers, stepping forward. John all but runs that half step between them and presses into Sherlock, who welcomes him warmly into his coat, wrapping him up and pressing him back to the wall.

John sighs and relaxes, leaning his weight into Sherlock’s steady torso.

“Sorry, I-”

“Don’t apologize. Please. Just breathe and relax for a moment.” But he knows it’s far past John’s breaking point today. A few moments later John straightens back up, able to stand fully and hug Sherlock back now.

“I think if we take fifth west we can intercept them.”

“No. We’re done today. I’m phoning Lestrade, it’s enough. More than.”

“No, Sherlock, I’m sorry. I’m fine-”

“John. We’re going home. I’m tired too. Truthfully I’m relieved.”

John sighs and gives in. They walk, hand in hand, to the road and get a cab home.

Back to Baker Street. Back home. Where the walls quiet most of the outside world, block the harsh winds and freezing air. Where the roof keeps the snow and rain from them so they can work on everything else.

Baker Street, where they can shed the rain-soaked and heavy clothes and exchange them for a hot bath and the arms of the other.

Where they can thaw out and take off their masks. Be their real selves, unafraid and not once having to regret it.

Where the buttons that others outside may accidentally push are carefully avoided and the right words are often (but not always) easy and clear.

Where they know one another, and listen closely, and help carefully, and hold tight.


	14. Things I Still Want to Write One Day: Statues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John and Sherlock are ancient Greek statues.

What if John and Sherlock were statues in a garden and one day they’re re-arranged and face one another and finally, after hundreds of years being just stone, they begin thinking and feeling.

And that night when the gardens are closed, they find they can move. All day they had been staring at one another and wanting to kiss and touch and believing they never could.

They jump from their pedestals and take cover somewhere in the garden and do just that. But what they never expected was to fall in love aww 💚

Night after night they gain movement and go to one another, learning each other and how it is to love- they hear folklore of themselves in ancient times and how they were figureheads for love and lust and companionship, along with other statues, but being stone and not moving for centuries can limit one’s experiences.

So they unwrap this mystery they’ve been gathering clues on for years and learn from other’s mistakes, overheard by them in stories and legends. They find that they can get it right- they have patience and compassion, they want to make it last, when you have only nights, you learn not to waste time on petty lies, games, and unspoken hurt feelings.

But one night the clock tower in town doesn’t chime to signal sunrise, and they’re frozen too soon, away from their positions.

These two are statues whose legends put them in the arms and beds of women- traditional folklore and all. So what will happen when these stone statues have moved and reshaped themselves overnight, into a position that suggests romantic interest?

Idk i may have to write that.


	15. Johnlock Kisses: Rare Varieties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mwah!

Sherlock is standing in front of the window playing, looks beautiful. He should be kissed.

John is now warm and relaxed in a bubble bath. He should be kissed.

Things have felt slightly off but we can’t place the cause, so we should just kiss until it feels better.

It’s 3 am and we’re both awake suddenly. We should kiss.

I just heard a song that used to make me sad about being lonely, please kiss me.

You anticipated my thoughts/feelings/needs before I expressed them/ even knew about them myself, I must kiss you.

We’re passing one another on the stairs/ in the kitchen/ hallway and happy about it.

John is sat by the fire/in candle light and looks so warm and welcoming, he should be kissed.

Sherlock looks lovely and ethereal in moonlight and I can’t believe I get to kiss him so I’ll do it just to make sure it’s real.

We’re in a library/ used bookstore and the books smell amazing, and I don’t know what to do with this extra happiness kisses.

‘How in the hell did you get that on your face/clothes already’ you’re so cute kisses.

Something just reminded me of how it used to be before we had each other, please help pull me back to now kisses.

Kisses for no reason. Kisses for any reason.


	16. Sometimes John and Sherlock Accidentally Stay Up All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By far my most popular work. I'll be posting this separately as well for easy finding access.   
> John and Sherlock have one of those nights you have when you start falling for someone new and you just stay up all night by accident talking except they've been together for forever and they're still in love uwu

Sometimes John and Sherlock accidentally talk all night.

Like maybe the intention to go to sleep at a normal time was there, but then they get distracted.

11 PM: They finish the movie and it just naturally feels like time for bed. Teeth are cleaned, doors are locked, and they settle in between the sheets, and damn is the bed comfortable compared to the haphazard dog pile of limbs they had gotten into on the sofa.

“What did you think of the film?”

“Nice; very enjoyable.”

“Did I tell you it was my favorite when I was a kid?”

“No. Really?”

“Yeah. Would watch it on repeat.”

“Interesting. But it’s no longer your favorite?”

“Right. I dunno- I still love it, but not in the same way.”

“I understand. Your favorite now is that one Bond, um…Die Another Day?”

“Yeah.” John gives Sherlock a small, soft smile. He looks almost bewitched.

“What’s that look for?”

“It’s for you. ”

“Yes, but why?”

“Because it’s really nice to have someone remember things like that about me.”

1 AM: The discussion has shifted to favorites, and why they’re favorites.

“So you would rather listen to that same Rolling Stones album again and again for eternity than ever even trying something like Debussey?”

“Correct.”

“Alright, well, now I know.”

“You know what?”

“That we’re breaking up.”

They laugh.

2 AM: …and now they’re just naming things they like.

John: “Long car journeys”

Sherlock: “The smell of coffee.”

“You hate coffee.”

“I hate the taste of coffee.”

“You are a complex being.”

“Thank you.”

They laugh some more.

John: “Rainy mornings that last all day.”

“Me too.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“They’re lovely.”

“Why’s that?”

Sherlock fidgets with his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase his answer.

“Because you always wake me very…pleasantly… and often you continue waking me pleasantly for most of the morning…afternoon…even into the evening sometimes.”

“Do I? When it’s raining?”

“Yes. Not every time, but under a certain set of conditions I can, for the most part, look at the forecast for the morning the night before and know in advance whether or not I’ll be getting anything done the next day.”

John looks back at him, a concoction of surprise, then near embarrassment, then a sly smile.

“Interesting, see, I find that I get one thing in particular done consistently on those days.”

Sherlock snorts.

4 AM: The topic has shifted between worst hangover stories and crazy uni memories to some more difficult things, like John’s time in the service, and Sherlock’s addiction.

“We’ve sort of been dealt a few tough hands eh?”

“Truly.”

“Makes me want to take you away somewhere and just be relaxed for a bit.”

“I would agree to that in an instant.”

“Yeah? Let’s do that, then.”

“Fantastic idea!”

“I do get them on occasion.”

More laughter.

5 AM:  
John is trying to work in to the concersation something he’s been wanting Sherlock to know for a long time. It’s difficult, though- he’s never really said anything like this- anything so personal.

“It says a lot about you, I think, that I can do things like this- stay awake all night, not having to be overwhelmed or rampant. You balance me, John.”

“Yeah..yeah I- I know what you mean. You also- I mean, you sort of…I don’t dread…my life to come…anymore. I used to think of all the days and years I had left to endure, wonder how I would fill them, hoping I could find something that wouldn’t feel so miserable, something to settle for, but you- fuck, Sherlock, I think back to that now and it feels like a horrible nightmare. I’m…more than just glad, to have found you. You- damn, this is hard, I-”

Sherlock ties his fingers with John’s and moves even closer.

"Take your time. No rush. No pressure. Anything you want to tell me, you can. You’re safe here.”

"I suppose…You umm…you made me rethink- my plans, for me, yes. But not only that, you also showed me a way of living so different from what I had known, so much better and full of richness, I look back at those days where I no longer wanted to be alive and think -it’s probably because I wasn’t alive. I had every responsibility and felt every drawback of life but was denied any of the good stuff. You showed me so much more than I ever knew was out there- you sort of saved my life by…showing me how to live it? That’s so cheesy, I-”

And now Sherlock is crying. So John starts crying.

6 AM: they’ve got themselves together by now and moved on to something a little lighter.

"Right…so, you mean to tell me that James Moriarty, criminal mastermind, scary man with an affinity for the latest in explosive fashion, still sleeps with a teddy bear?”

"Precisely.”

"How did you figure that one out?”

"It took a few-visits- to piece it together, mostly because I was in disbelief myself, but he shows signs of a stiff neck as if he sleeps in an extremely bent position with one arm hooked partially under himself, likely around a small item. Persistence of this soreness shows that he didn’t just sleep wrong once, he makes a habit of this position. But what really sealed the realization was the right thumbnail. Much shorter than all the others, wrinkled texture, dry skin around the edges where the rest of his finers are immaculately manicured. Exposed to moisture for long periods of time.”  
"No fuckin way!”

"Oh yes. He sucks his thumb. What a terrifying creature.”  
Hysterical laughter.

"I’m always curious what you could tell about me right away and what took you a bit longer.”

That’s a dangerous path John- not everyone wants to know what others can tell about them.”

"Yeah but I’m just tired enough to ask anyway.”

"Well, all the things I pointed out at Bart’s…then more and more about your childhood based on your dating habits…around a month after we moved in I had narrowed down the approximate size of your…tyre lever…”

"Really?”

"Well…I had underestimated, to be honest. Your stature is misleading, as I’m sure you know.”-

"So, that is to say, you were-”

"Incredibly anxious and then surprised in the best possible way.”

"I was going for ‘not disappointed’, but alright.”

"Not in the slightest. My God, not even a little. In fact, what’s the opposite of disappointed?”

"Satisfied?”

"More than.”

"Sated?”

"Never.”

7 AM: Talking has ceased. The sun seeps in at the sides of the drapes, pale and gray. It’s a bit chilly, but neither know- it’s aafe and warm in the bubble of their room.

Neither sleep until around noon, after tea and toast in bed- the rain hits the roof in steady droves, tapping occasionally at the window if the wind blows a certain way.

Sherlock gets absolutely no work done.


	17. On Love and Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock freaks out about not being romantic enough for Joh.

It’s a cool, early fall night in London. The bedroom window of 221b is cracked. The moonlight illuminates the curtains, making them glow softly.

The light casts soft, blue brightness into the dark room. A soft breeze rustles through and makes a tendril of Sherlock’s curly hair tickle his nose.

John sleeps next to him, tucked up against his side as Sherlock lies on his back. John’s head is heavy on his chest, one hand rests on his stomach under his shirt, fingers splayed across his skin.

John feels warm and relaxed; he’s felt much safer lately sleeping at night since they started needing just the one bedroom, according to Sherlock’s observations.

Tonight, though, the weight and warmth of John isn’t putting him to sleep like it usually does. Tonight, he’s worrying.

And he has been for a while.

Turns out, actually being with John, in the sense of being partners, rather than just friends, seems to be quite different than expected.

John is now more apt to asking Sherlock to further delve into his feelings and current state than before. Gone are the ‘How was your day?’

‘Fine, yours?’

‘Good’ conversations. Now they’re more like;

'Hello, love. Missed you *kiss*. How are you?’

'Fine, you?’

'Alright, yeah. You weren’t up before I left.’

'No.’

'Did you sleep alright?’

'Not really, no. Was working on this late last night.’

And Sherlock knows he’s coming off a bit cold- he can tell these conversations are John trying to get him to talk with him, but it’s vague to Sherlock what he should say. Not to mention the times he can see he’s upset John but isn’t sure why.

'Can I help with anything?’

'No, no, best if I do it- one thought process and all. Efficient.’

Or 'What do you think of a bath?’

'Boring and generally uncomfortable.’

Often he realizes later what John wanted, but the damage is done. John says there’s nothing to apologize for, he seems genuine about it, but altogether Sherlock would like to avoid upsetting him in the first place.

He’s been awake all night thinking, wanting to toss and turn restlessly but held in place by a soundly calm and restful John.

He slips gently from the covers, leaving behind a warm patch and a warm partner; generally comforted by these things, tonight they almost smother him.

He makes a pot of tea and stands at the window, thinking. This room, the flat, London- all somehow seem new recently. Exciting, despite their normalcy, and foreign, no matter how mad that sounds.

The streets below, previously trekked over on foot chases, now marked on Sherlock’s mental map with 'John kissed me here,’ and 'We had that conversation here,’ pinpoints.

The staircase inside the door downstairs, where they used to simply walk up and down to come and go, now painted with memories of barely making it in the door after dinner, especially that first time…

The fireplace, once used just for warmth (and burning things, though John and Mrs. Hudson disapprove of experiments on an open flame so large) is now a common feature used to create an 'atmosphere’.

The fridge now contains things like wine, and leftovers from dates, with dessert (granted, they got plenty of takeout before, but this is different- Sherlock remembers the taste of his dish, as well as John’s).

Not to mention John’s things now being downstairs with Sherlock’s things; John’s clothes with his clothes (sometimes Sherlock can smell John on him and wonder if it’s because John wore the item, John hugged him in the item, or the item was simply close to John’s things in the closet, the wash, on the floor…). John’s toothbrush next to his in the holder. John’s soap in the shower. Wait, that stuff has always been there. 'I’m losing it,’ he thinks.

The point, he thinks, is that things are just slightly different enough to throw him a bit, and to keep throwing him constantly.

He was not expecting John to kiss him before putting him in a cab to The Yard the other day, but he did. He wasn’t expecting John to come up behind him and steady his hand when Sherlock was so tired and hungry and strung out on adrenaline he was shaking as he tried to write notes. 'You dictate, I’ll write,’ he whispered, one hand on Sherlock’s waist, the other taking the pen.

He wasn’t expecting John to creak into the kitchen, lit dimly by one yellow light, which seeps only a short distance into the sitting room.

“Something wrong, love?”

Still looking out, Sherlock swallows his tea hard and sets the cup gently on the saucer, the saucer on the desk.

“Couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Go back to bed, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, alright. Except, you don’t sound all that fine. ”

Silence.

“You don’t have to- I mean, you don’t owe me anything. But- Don’t you trust me, Sherlock? I mean, your actions out there say so-’ he gestures out the window Sherlock has yet to peal himself away from ’-But here, I never seem to get past the first few layers. ”

The clock on the mantel tick-tock-ticks steadily on, counting cruelly the seconds that divide them.

John can manage only a harsh whisper, a sound Sherlock recalls to mean eminent tears.

“I expected to be patient. I expected to go slow, and have to wait for you to feel comfortable with every aspect of this. I’ll wait years, Sherlock, to finally have access to your thoughts and emotions- I know you have them, don’t even try that shit.”

Tick…

“I’ll wait as long as you want. It’s my first priority that you’re safe and happy in this. But you have to let me know when I need to make a change. You’ve been…retreating. ”

Tick…

“This is what people who care for each other do. They say when they’re having a hard time. They say when something their partner does bothers them. Hell, I’d take you shouting at me about it out of nowhere if it meant I could know what I was doing wrong!”

Tock…

It’s begun raining, little drops hitting here and there, tapping the window. They add to the clicking of the clock hands.

They stand for a moment, listening to it. Small, occasional taps and clicks. Nothing noises- but they’re deafening. To Sherlock, they’re always quicker, always louder. He has to say something.

He turns slowly, and looks up at John. He opens his mouth and,

“John,” but it’s hoarse and near silent. He clears his throat and tries again.

“John?” Better that time. Nearly inaudible, but John hears, and he steps forward.

“John, I’m… sorry. I know I have. But believe me, you’re not. I mean, you’re doing everything right. So right, in fact, I find myself…In unfamiliar territory. You seek togetherness and warmth and intimacy in ways that I am unprepared and unsure how to provide. You bring me opportunities to connect and I push them aside, dismissing them as casual invitations. I need patience and understanding and you bring that in abundance, and I have no idea what to do with it, let alone how to return it. ”

'Oh love…’

“You are everything I thought I would never find in one person, and I am frozen solid, paralyzed by confusion, doubt, and fear. You are wasted on me, John Watson.”

“Sherlock!”

“John please. Spare me the fake shock, it’s killing me.”

John swallows another painful sob.

“Come here, with me? Please? Just listen for a moment. Bring your tea, if you like.”

He leads Sherlock back to bed and sits in the middle, cross-legged. John pats the mattress in front of him.

“Please?”

Sherlock climbs in carefully, handing his cuppa off to John temporarily.

John’s eyes are full of heartbreak; Sherlock’s are tired and defeated.

“You’re right, you are sometimes distant. And you don’t exactly swoon when I’m a romantic sod. But I didn’t get into this relationship hoping to change that. I want what it says on the tin. ”

“But this, pushing you away, keeping a distance, I can see that it hurts you. That’s not who I am- or who I want to be, with you. Maybe that’s me generally. But I expected to be more able to decipher the proper responses to these things by now. ”

“I know it’s not you. I mean that I signed up for you, being beautifully different than other people, sometimes being calculative, but never cold. You aren’t cold, Sherlock. You’re forging a new way of being. This is new. ”

“You don’t think I’m resigned to being so unresponsive?”

“I know you’re not. This, right now? Two months ago? Impossible.”

“Improbable.”

“Yes, alright. But it’s natural to doubt yourself when doing new things. ”

“I just don’t want to make you feel so alone anymore. We’ve been alone with these feeling for too long, John. But at the same time, I’m so afraid to join you on the level you currently occupy. I’m used to letting people in and watching them break whatever they find.”

“I won’t lie to you, I lose sight of the progress we’re making sometimes. But never long enough to resent this.”

“Never.”

“Never.”

“And as for being afraid, I know my word means shit when I say I won’t hurt you. What can I do?”

“I have no idea. John, I am lost for a solution.”

“Time, maybe. Be patient with yourself- I can see the walls coming down.”

“The look on your face though…”

“Alright. What if I make it much more clear that I’m trying to get closer to you. You’re at full liberty to decline, no questions asked, if you feel too overwhelmed. ”

“John…”

Sherlock leans in and uses both hands to engulf John’s face, kissing him so softly, the tears John had been pushing back came forward, stinging his shut eyes and rolling gently over Sherlock’s fingers.

Sherlock presses a soft kiss to John’s forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, all along his jaw, with slow and hot energy, then a cheeky peck to his nose. They laugh, and John sees that Sherlock is crying too.

Sherlock smiles widely, eyes creasing shut again.

“What?”

“I get to keep you after all.”

“You thought otherwise?”

“Oh yes. I was sure you’d come to your senses any day and look for something more rewarding.”

“This-” John kisses him deeply, both exhaling in relief “-is the most rewarding thing I have ever experienced. This-” John sets the tea cup on the bedside table, leaning Sherlock back against the pillows with the motion “-is the epitome of happiness for me. This-” John lowers himself over Sherlock, propped up on his forearms “-is perfect. This-” John places his open lips over Sherlock’s, hovers for a moment, then rocks forward slowly, pressing Sherlock into the sheets (where just tonight he had been worrying if John was happy with him), earning a sigh “-is more rewarding than I could possibly ever even think to ask for from anyone or anything else. ”


	18. Things I Still Want to Write One Day: Bubble Baths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was titled "The Fact that I love bubble baths, love fics featuring bubble baths, and have yet to write Johnlock in a bubble bath...may have to fix that." I still have yet to write them in a bath.

Ok brainstorming…

John loves baths after a hard day  
Sherlock never really considered them as anything other than slow showers but tries it for John  
He ends up loving it  
They do the whole thing with candles and wine and music 😍  
It becomes a way for them to bond and connect regularly  
Classic rainy day tradition  
It helps them become closer- it’s such an intimate thing  
John loves when Sherlock wraps all around him like in Pretty Woman  
They both love being the one to wash the other’s hair because both of them become boneless blobs of mush when the other runs their hands all through their hair  
Deep, unhurried kisses in dim candlelight  
The weird feeling of being naked but not exposed is extremely enjoyable to both  
Smells good  
Is warm  
Good times 😂


	19. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again...in my feelings.

n the time before they figure things out and get together, Sherlock questions for a little while whether what he feels for John is love.

He’s been in love before, but those times he experienced the whole shaking hands, nervous gut flips, can’t think straight, heart pounding thing. But this isn’t /quite/ that.

At first, sure, he’s concerned how he comes across, wants John to like him, all that. But when they get comfortable, that fades, and something new grows in its place.

John quiets him. He’s still manic and gets bored, but wow, it’s becoming /manageable/. As the years go on- the panic he grew familiar with, the dark shadows of fear, doubt, loneliness don’t follow so closely, until they’re gone altogether.

They grow even closer and this newfound calmness starts bringing friends. Strength. Patience. Happiness.

Movies when he was a kid always talk about your ‘soulmate’- he sneers a little thinking the word- taking your breath away. Well, John does, sometimes, but more often he puts the air back into Sherlock’s chest.

He tells this to John one evening by the fire.

“You sort of…quiet my mind. ”

“I know what you mean. ”  
Sherlock has noticed John’s fewer and less severe nightmares, the panic attacks have stopped completely. Now he knows why.

They sit on the sofa, Sherlock’s feet in John’s lap, just talking. Not perfect, but feeling better. Getting better.

“When I was away, we would talk a lot- army buddies, ya know- about anything. It came up more than you might guess about relationships and all. Someone said once they knew they’d found something really special when their reaction to that person walking in the room was a sense of ease and comfort, where butterflies and nervousness used to happen.” John thinks for a moment before amending- “Not, I mean, not that you don’t excite me I mean we’ve had that conversation,” They laugh. “I said danger, and here you are.” Sherlock recalls. “Exactly.” John looks a little relieved to have gotten his point across. “I’ve heard similar things from mummy. And when clients talk sometimes, you know.” “Yeah.” John whispers. “Yeah. You make me…you sort of, bring me, a feeling of being able to handle what used to loom over me. Like, I know I’ll probably still think about what I saw and had to do, but I know that I can handle it. You showed me that I have it in me, you know?” “I know.”  
They find enough adventure to keep them starry eyed and couple it with enough safety that they feel taken care of. It’s a quiet strength- a firm hand grasping a shaking one, a knowing look and a wordless embrace- that fuels them. A steady crackle, burning solid wood, where others’ often blaze quickly and burn out. They are strongest together, and much stronger individually than before.

“I love you.” “I love you, too.”


	20. A Place Entirely Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock turns John's old room into something far more useful, ending a subconscious worry they both held to.

Once John moves downstairs to share the big bedroom with Sherlock, they sort of forget about the one upstairs.

Until one day, John goes back up there to look for something. He realizes it’s been months since he’s been up there; there’s a thick layer of dust. It’s gotten cold and no one has turned on the heat up there.

He looks around and thinks about when he used to live up here; how many nights he spent here wishing he was downstairs. The times he thought it would never happen. Standing amongst his past while living his present.

John sees how these two fazes differ so starkly. It’s like stepping back into that time. He wishes he could tell himself then what he knows now- saving himself years of anguish certainly sounds appealing.

John sits with these thoughts a while. It seems odd; as if the upstairs is another sad dimension, a bleaker past he can literally visit. It feels out of place in their home. Like a jagged rock in a bag of cotton balls.

A few months later, he takes Sherlock’s hands and leads him up the stairs. A bit confused as to why he’s being shown around his own flat, (but still willing to follow John anywhere) Sherlock peers into John’s old room.

It’s completely different. There’s a large area rug of fluffy, thick carpet. Nice sheets and bedding. Two matching end tables on either sude of the twin bed, blinds and heavy drapes. There’s even an electric kettle and a few mugs.

“John, this is lovely. But why is it all here? Do you…would you rather sleep up here?”

“No, god no, love. I just felt like the way this room was before was…it felt like a preserved part of the past that I’d rather not have looming overhead. Literally. This is where I sort of, I mean, it felt like I had been up here, mourning the fact I’d never be with you, for so long. And I didn’t like that I could so easily feel that again, here in our home.”

“Oh John, I’m sorry. That’s awful. “

“But now, it’s something new. “

“So what exactly are your plans for this?”

“I’m glad you asked. This is the place we will go to when we need to escape. Nightmares, sadness, working too long. We talk enough about wanting to lock ourselves away. Now we can.”

“A recovery room.”

“A recovery room.”

And they do. A few nights later, Sherlock has a nightmare. John wakes him up, brushing the tears off his cheeks.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

John wraps him in a blanket burrito and (somehow) carries him up the stairs. He puts the blanket burrito on the bed and flips a switch near the headboard. A string of soft yellow fairy lights illuminates at the conjunction between ceeling and walls around the room.

They climb under the covers and talk for a while before falling easily back into sleep.

It eventually becomes this little inclusive hideaway, with extra phone chargers, some snacks, this and that. Mrs. H even lets them repaint- they’re certainly not going anywhere.

They pick a nice, calming blue. The recovery room never fails. Plus, they love sleeping so closely. It really does feel like they’re the only two people in the world.

Sometimes we leave our emotions in physical places. Sometimes just a change of environment can help us change our energy. Sometimes we need to redecorate.

It’s all fine.


	21. John Watson is A Very Lucky Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I debunk the whole 'Sherlock is a bad boyfriend' myth.

It confuses me that some people think Sherlock would be a bad bf/partner/husband.

Like, do you understand how GRATEFUL he feels for John? How DIFFERENT his life is after John comes about? It’s not lost on him in the SLIGHTEST how much John has changed things, affected him and his world for the better.

And it’s not quite that he feels afraid of losing John. John has made it exceedingly clear that he’s not going anywhere. It’s more like Sherlock is just so happy that he not only wants to make the effort to make John happy as well, but it also comes naturally to him to take care of John.

Sherlock would put so much effort into making sure he’s saying what he means clearly, making sure John isn’t upset by things Sherlock thinks may have come out wrong, making sure John is very sure how he feels at all times. And communicating things that are upsetting to him, asking John to clarify things he wasn’t sure how to take, making sure no possible hurt feelings have gone unchecked.

Sherlock would be so considerate. He would be hyper aware of things that have happened to John during the day, or remember well what has upset John in the past, and he would take the time to do things to help. He would order John’s favorite meals when he deduces a bad day, or immediately go into ‘comforting John mode’ as soon as they’re alone in a cab after a case he know will have upset John.

Sherlock would do little things for no reason he knows John will enjoy, just because he wants to. A dictation software for John’s laptop so he can write more efficiently, a pair of wool socks picked up on a case trip to Scotland, bath bombs from Lush because obviously.

And he would use his deduction skills and memory to take detailed notes and make astoundingly accurate analysies on exactly what John wants and needs behind closed doors. After not too long, he can take John apart methodically, but he can also connect with him in a way that’s so intimate, it’s almost too much for both of them.

John is surprised by this at first, but after a little further thought, it makes total sense. Sherlock is focused (when the subject interests him), emotional, passionate (just ask the sitting room wall, with its bullet holes and indoor graffiti), curious and experimental, unbothered by being ‘proper’, and completely, totally, undoubtedly unhinged. Of course he’s a good lover. He’s great. In every regard.

At the core of it, he just wants for John and himself to have a happy and healthy relationship, and they both work to make sure of it.

Sherlock is a great boyfriend, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.


	22. A Case of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock meet when Sherlock is hired to investigate into Mary's past.

What if John and Sherlock met because John hired Sherlock to investigate his new wife (Mary) because she’s suspicious

 

Like, picture the whole ‘problems of your past’ scene, but actually John just wants her to think he’s forgotten about it and he hires Sherlock secretly to find out about her

 

And the stuff Sherlock finds is really upsetting to John, so he comforts John a lot while working on the case

 

And John decides to leave Mary, but he feels really torn up and guilty

 

And so after that he and Sherlock are ‘friends’ and Sherlock keeps comforting him, but one day John says he feels bad for never asking Sherlock about him and says Sherlock is welcome to vent to him if he ever needs to

 

So Sherlock starts to open up and they fall in love uwu all while John is leaving Mary

 

And finally the divorce is done and John is sad for weeks. Sherlock thinks it’s cuz he loves Mary BUT ACTUALLY it’s more like John realizes he never loved her he ACTUALLY loves Sherlock and it’s so unlike any time he’s ever thought he’d loved someone before and he thinks Sherlock doesn’t love him

 

And Sherlock is sad because he thinks John is sad over Mary

 

Then Sherlock calls John over to go over the last bits of their case together and asks if he can do anything to help John get over Mary and John decides he has nothing to lose

 

John licks his lips and stares out the window in 221b. “Actually yeah, you can.” And he steps forward, grabs Sherlock’s face in both hands and kisses him deeply.


	23. Finish What He Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Mike Stanford gets fed up with his otp not being canon yet (relatable).

Mike Stanford bursts through the door of 221b. He’s sweaty and out of breath, and looks furious.

 

“Alright you chicken shit fucks, it’s been nearly ten years. You’ve had your chances. “

 

He walks over to Sherlock, violin in hand at the window, and pokes him in the chest.

 

“You’re in love with him!”

 

He turns and runs to John in the kitchen, poking him equally as hard.

 

“And you’re in love with him. Now for fuck’s sake, get over yourselves! “

 

He backs up and looks back and forth between them expectantly.

 

“Sherlock, is he…is that…?”

 

Sherlock nods meekly. There’s a pause, and then they both put down their violins and tea cups. John half shoves Mike on his way to Sherlock.

 

Mike almost doesn’t make it out fast enough to hear them sighing and kissing on the living room floor.


	24. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings...I was in them.

It’s finally summer.

 

It’s warm. Not just ‘not cold’. And the windows are open in the sitting room. It’s late, well past dark, and the moon is out. Giving the luster of midday to objects below and all that.

 

It feels like the entire world is asleep- safely tucked away, and they’re the only two left.

 

It feels like that a lot, actually. Not just now, not just late at night, for them.

 

Like the rest of the world is half asleep. Like everyone else is below the clouds.

 

It storms. Heavy rain and thunder. Enough to be electrifying without being frightening.

 

It feels like finally, the worst is over. And the good stuff has begun. Finally…finally…

 

And they stand, with the furniture pushed aside, the lights all out, in the sitting room. Lit only dimly by the moonshine and streetlamps below, and they dance, slowly.

 

No real plan or steps, just moving together. Feeling the breeze, or a light mist every now and then when the wind shifts.

 

A church tower chimes two in the distance and the bells sound jubilent. They always do, since that night, similar to this one, when they found one another awake and wandering (missing one another) and finally fixed things. Finally said the truth.

 

Everything, even quiet things, feel celebratory.

 

John whispers low into the soft shoulder at his mouth,

 

“And I love you, I love you, I love you. Like never before.”


	25. Johnlock Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was ridiculous.

*whispers* Hey! Wanna hear a rumor about John and Sherlock? Okay okay, here’s the tea.

 

Unilock au where Sherlock and John go to a houseparty and John plays guitar hero with some friends and he’s sooooo good like damn. He does so well and he looks like a real rockstar…

 

So when they leave Sherlock drags him into an alley on the way home and tells him about his major thing for rockstars.

 

But he doesn’t exactly use his words whoops.


	26. More Angsty Comfort/Fluvv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johlock comforts one another. Again.

You know, they’ve been through a helluva lot. Some of it together, some on their own. And they each learn how to help one another when the fears and flashbacks and everything else creeps back in. They get really good at it, too.

They even have things they can do together that help both of them, should the need arise. Hot baths, especially on those winter nights where everything feels desolate. Sitting together in front of the fire- John often reads aloud. Everything from poetry to science or med journals. Sometimes he’ll even read old case write uos, especially if Sherlock is dozing. He likes to see him slowly register what he’s hearing, barely cracking an eye open when he hears his name or something too familiar to be from a publication. John smiles that eye-crinkling grin and soon Sherlock does too.

Or sometimes they do that in bed- if they both feel anxious during the day, they’ll seek refuge in their bed, the place that they deem ‘always safe’. It’s often difficult to come here at night should the fears creep up- the threat of nightmares looming. But during the day they can come here and nap or read or talk.

Here, Sherlock reads. He sits up against pillows on the headboard and tucks John under his arm. John often drifts off first here- the baritone of Sherlock’s voice, even and vibrating in his chest puts John safely at ease.

They both like a walk- it feels grounding to leave the walls of their flat and remember the rest of the world exists, not just the thoughts bogging them down.

When John has a hard time with his memories from the war, the fall, or certain cases, (he confides in Sherlock how frightening it was to wake up in the bonfire, unable to move or breathe- and how it often makes him feel unsure of going to sleep- afraid of finding himself there again) afraid of nightmares, and unable to feel safe, even in sleep, Sherlock pulls him in. He gives incredible hugs, John is amazed to find out. He gave good ones when they were friends, but with his fear of making John uncomfortable gone, he consumes him. He does things to remind John that he’s alive, and that he’s not alone.

They’ll do something new- Sherlock will surprise John with paint supplies (he finds Johns artwork from high school and thinks he should pick it up again), or a conspiracy theory to distract him with.

John needs to feel alive when he’s having a hard time. His experiences have lead him to a type of spiral thinking which results in him feeling as though he’s doomed to a life of monotenous danger. Always something scary around the corner, exhausting, and bleak. So Sherlock gets really creative.

“John, have you heard of *insert obscure kink or sex act*? “ which normally results in a complete reset, evident on John’s face.

“Interested?” Sherlock asks, casually as if he had asked John if he wanted to try a new coffee place.

Sherlock needs to feel safe. He knows that ‘impending doom’, unless he’s clued into something actually approaching, is an illogical fear. But that doesn’t stop his flashbacks or disassociations from being any less vivid.

Sometimes John finds him staring into space, with a look on his face that says ‘I’m witnessing something awful’ not ‘exploring mind palace’.

He stoops down and looks into Sherlock’s face, grabs his shoulders, and speaks softly.

“Hey in there. Why don’t you join me out here? It’s much more okeasant, I’m sure.”

“Oh, John. “

He pauses, uncrosses his legs, scrubs a hand down his face, and leans into the hand John places on his jaw.

“Thank you.”

John wraps him in blankets, even buys him a weighted blanket. That always puts him out like a light. A nap with John under the big blanket fixes most anything.

For times when Sherlock starts to spiralal, taken over by a panic attack, John modifies a grounding method he learned a few years ago.

He walks Sherlock to the living room. “Name five things you can see in this room that were made in England. Don’t use any other senses.” And, using only sight and deduction, he does.

Then it’s “Four things you can feel that contain a natural fiber. “

In the bathroom, it’s three things he can hear that naturally make a sound of 15 decibals, in the bedroom it’s two things he can smell that have remnants of scents other than their natural odor.

“Now,” John says, guiding him back to the kitchen, “One thing you can taste that makes you happy.” He kisses John shyly.

“Clever. Feeling any better?”

“Yes”

“Good.”

Often when Sherlock wakes from a nightmare, he just wants to feel not alone. This often results in wrapping himself in John’s arms, or even rolling John on top of him. He sighs into John’s neck, and John pets his hair.

John is so good at reassuring him verbally. Which often leads to praise, which often leads to-

“John, god, yes…”

And John, with his forehead pressed to Sherlock’s, close enough to see the light in his eyes, even in the dark, asking through gritted teeth and eyes screwed shut,

“F- feeling better, love?”

“Much,” he replies, muffled, with his mouth against John’s.

It breaks John’s heart to feel Sherlock jump next to him, because he knows he’s having another dream about falling. John does his best to wrap him in a blanket as quickly as possible after he hits the mattress, pulling him onto his lap and promising him he’s okay.

Sherlock buys a second violin to keep in the bedroom, so he can play for John after his dreams without having to leave him alone to go get it. John feels too unsafe to leave the room, so this seems a logical solution.

Although their troubles are different, they are fading. And they are well cared for.


	27. Anon Request 1: A Kiss on a Falling Tear/To Shut Them Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from a request list of types of kisses. Thanks anon!

6 or 7 for Johnlock (thank u)  
-Anonymous  
Hi nonny! Thanks for requesting!

“A Kiss…on a falling tear/…to shut them up”

John’s footsteps are slow and heavy; he takes almost time and a half as long as usual to climb them. Sherlock is in his chair, reading when he hears John’s ascent- clomp…pause…clomp…pause.

It’s been pouring all day, and freezing. Mid-October and autumn is in full, glorious, gray swing. Sherlock stands, using his long legs to stride quickly, easily to the door. He greets John wordlessly, pulling him into the sitting room and shutting the door decisively.

Sherlock peels sodden and cold layers off quickly, gently. He lets the items fall to the floor, and John- tidy, neat as a pin John lets him. He’s exhausted. Has been for weeks.

All that should be over soon, sure, but that doesn’t do much to soothe the now. So Sherlock welcomes him, warms him like he has been for weeks on end now, nothing more than sympathy and a solemn dedication to easing John’s pain in any way.

He collects John’s soaked clothes, promising himself to buy John a fold up umbrella for his jacket pocket immediately. The wet clothes are sorted into the laundry, and John is guided with reassuring hands on his shoulders to a hot shower.

Sherlock’s hands are encompassing and comforting as they wash John’s hair. The smaller man relaxes back into familiar arms, and feels, as he always does, the tightness and worry seep out.

Sherlock wraps a warm towel around John’s shoulders after drying them both, knotting the wet one around himself for the brief journey into the bedroom to retrieve pajamas. But when he enters again into the bathroom, John’s head is bowed, palm against cheek, and his face is pulled tight like someone who’s trying to stop from crying.

“Oh John,” Sherlock pulls him in so tight the cavity of John’s chest fills again with air he didn’t know he was missing. To have, to hold, to remind me to breathe…

John shakes and gasps quietly. When he calms a bit, Sherlock tilts his chin up. With hands holding his heavy head up and eyes so tired they’re half shut, familiar lips kiss up from his chin, collecting his tears on either cheek. Gentle presses to his closed eyelids, then forehead, then lips.

Though their routine was familiar, this was not. It was certainly not unexpected, though. In fact it was a bit of a relief to finally see John fully express himself. John always felt able to let go what emotions he may feel around Sherlock: They both did. But sometimes things took a bit longer to surface fully. And while the reaction was completely acceptable, John’s apologies, now spilling out, were not.

They had a very comfortable arrangement when it comes to dealing with emotions and stress, or so Sherlock thought. He was surprised and heartbroken thatJohn felt he needed to apologize.

“God, I just…”

“John, please. Why would you ever think you needed to apologize for this?”

“Because it’s been going on for so long. Weeks! I can’t ask you to keep taking care of me everyday like this, it’s selfish. I’m supposed to be the one…”

“Stop right there. John this is a two way street. Neither of us is ‘supposed to be the one to’ anything. Period. If I were going through something like this would you think me selfish for asking you to comfort me?”

“Well, no, but-“

Sherlock hates being cut off with a kiss. He feels unheard or pushed aside, as if his problems could be solved with such a thing. So John doesn’t kiss him to shut him up.

But Sherlock happens to know that John likes it. It helps, even. He knows if Sherlock cuts him off with a kiss, it’s because he’s fixated, spiraling, and just needs a good reset.

And reset it does. Sherlock overtakes him, bending John’s head back to lean over his face and engulf his head in warm hands while consuming his mouth with a devouring, slow, languid kiss. Sherlock’s hot tongue licks into the gap between John’s slackened lips, and John feels completely uninhibited. Finally, the grip his day has had on him releases, and the past weeks are seemingly pushed farther away.

“Thank you.”


	28. Things I Still Want to Write One Day: My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A smutty fic idea? From moi? You've been warned."   
> Seriously it's a smut headcanon.

just had this idea for a really strange fic scenario, and it came to me while listening to My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark. I thought it would be an interesting concept to explore if Johnlock were to make out or even have sex, anonymously, but they know one another? They just don’t know that’s who they’re with?

Even more, what if one of them found out prior to the experience, and was able to fully check off so many things they’ve always wanted to do with the other? Everyone is consenting to the situation and both are aware that they could potentially be ‘paired’, but maybe the ‘pool’ of participants is large enough that the odds are thin?

Does this make sense?

Imagine some sort of space, think BDSM club, where willing participants are paired randomly for anonymous sex, in a dark room. And be it for a case or by some other scenario, John and Sherlock attend. Sherlock somehow finds out he’s been paired woth John? So when they begin, he just completely gives in and lets his instincts take over, and he fulfills so much of what he’s been dying for from John. It’s amazing, for both, to boot. I imagine this would be first person, and we’d know all of his thoughts about the experience and it could be really personal.

But woah! Hold on! Plot twist- John knew too! All along! Neither knew that the other was aware, so they both get to be ‘anonymous’ in their own heads, completely free of fear of rejection or showing too much, completely uninhibited.

At the end, they get the choice to say if they’d like to meet their partner, and if it’s mutual, they re enter the room, this time with the lights on.

It’s mutual.

Would anyone read that?


End file.
